A Crush in Dream Time

You know you should say fruta bomba
but whisper papaya because it’s nasty,
& laughing, you’re out the door walking along rain
& mystery, repeating Teaching! Schedule!
over city grates twisted, rusted— Where, where’s
the ardor? Why this rush & rigor,
this cumulo-nimbus, this quandary
elsewhere? Shouldn’t liaisons appear in rooms
with balconies & languor? Why not
Pedro with his bright teeth, open collar,
cupping history lessons to an ear— Who knows
what will expire in an hour, who knows if
there was a window or if it was flocked
in neighbors that night, gathered in blackouts,
one generator, telenovela’s
reruns— Were sherry glasses laid out
like a sickle? An electric life-sized saint?
Was a small child in red panties outside
your door whispering what’s this what’s this?